


In the Game of Scones you either win or you pie

by kitkatkaylie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Great British Bake Off Fusion, Best Friends to Lovers, Custard-Gate, F/F, Fluff, I can only apologise now, I probably get the technical bits wrong somewhere, M/M, Past Robb Stark/Jeyne Westerling, Sansa Snark, Sansa has Anxiety and is Dealing With It, Stark Family Shenanigans, The Great Jeyne Confusion, Theon Greyjoy is a Good Bro, but please ignore that, terrible puns and innuendos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28203819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: Sansa had dreamt about seeing the white tent and competing for the praise of the judges and the coveted title of Star Baker, if only she didn't have to deal with the drama of other contestants and the newly emerging feelings for her best friend and fellow competitor...
Relationships: Jeyne Poole/Sansa Stark, Satin Flowers/Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. Cake Week

**Author's Note:**

> Am I ignoring the world by starting yet another AU? You bet I am!
> 
> This can entirely be blamed on a discord conversation and the shameless enablers (you know who you are) who took part! 
> 
> (Also if your idea wasn’t used then I apologise, there were just so many that I had to pick and choose and some scenes were written before ideas were suggested!)

The white tent that stood before Sansa was one she had been seeing in her dreams for years, one which had only increased in frequency since she received her acceptance as a contestant on the show. Her whole family had celebrated, they’d all danced around the living room (which had frightened the dogs something terribly) and then the cookbooks had come out. 

Granny Minisia’s recipe book, the pages yellowed and faded in places, alongside Uncle Benjen’s, which always smelled like a campfire, and the myriad of glossy new ones that had filled their shelves ever since Sansa had started to express an interest in baking. Alongside them rested the floral notebook that Sansa used for her own recipes, the ones she had tried and tested and tweaked while using her family and friends as guinea pigs.

Her mother was very methodical as she had scanned the pages, making a list of all the recipes which might be appropriate to show off skills, while Bran scoured Wikipedia to find a list of all the challenges done so far, so that Sansa could relax knowing it was unlikely she’d be asked for one of those as a technical challenge. 

That amount of preparation had done much to soothe Sansa’s nerves as she approached the tent, her folder of recipes for her signature and showstopper ready to be used (and if necessary given a last minute tweak) while she was secure that the bakes had done very well while practicing.

Although whether the opinion of ravenous ten years olds was quite as discerning as the palates Oberyn Martel and Maege Mormont, Sansa was unsure. 

She took a deep breath and followed the guide who was taking her to meet the other contestants, she knew one already, her brother’s boyfriend and best friend, but she was nervous about meeting the others.

She didn’t know how she would cope if none of the others liked her, not when she had so been looking forward to this experience.

The group that awaited her seemed younger than usual, with many of them closer to her own age. It seemed like there weren’t many older contestants this year and those that were… fuck.

Sansa cursed and turned her head sharply, praying that she had not been seen by a man whose very name was less than mud in the Stark household: Rhaegar Targaryen.

The man who had dated Aunt Lyanna when she was a teen, knocked her up with Jon, and then admitted that he was actually twenty five, married, and had two other children already when she asked him to be a part of Jon’s life.

Sansa just knew that when the series aired her Aunt would be throwing things at the TV screen and cheering for him to fail or injure himself. 

Or both.

She turned so quickly that she almost knocked into someone, someone who looked _very_ familiar.

“Jeyne?” Sansa gasped out, her eyes widening in shock.

Jeyne looked her up and down and smiled tightly, “Sansa. It’s… good to see you again. How is everyone?”

An absent part of Sansa’s mind wondered if this conversation appeared as awkward from the outside as it felt to be a part of. Jeyne had gone through a very messy breakup with Robb nearly a year previously, in which she had accused him of cheating on her with Theon. Robb had not been cheating on her, but his argument was somewhat weakened by the announcement that he and Theon were dating a week later. 

“Everyone’s well, yes. And you?” 

Jeyne nodded, “Yes, everyone is well…”

She trailed off, leaving them both in an awkward silence, both unwilling to be the one to break away first. 

“Sansa!” An arm was slung over her shoulders, an arm adorned with very familiar tattoos. 

“Theon.” Sansa turned to grin down at him, “Yara give you a lift here today?”

“Yep!” Theon curled his arm around tighter, “She didn’t trust me to get here alone.”

“Theon Greyjoy.” Jeyne sniffed, “I would say it was a pleasure, but it is not.”

Theon’s whole body stiffened, and Sansa just knew that he would have the cockiest smirk on his face. 

“Jeyne Westerling, finally dealt with your fear of commitment?” Theon drawled, his whole demeanour forcibly uncaring.

Sansa foresaw a fight erupting if they remained nearby for much longer, and so dragged him away from Jeyne. It wouldn’t do to start off such an exciting event with violence.

She took him to another side of the tent, away from Rhaegar and Jeyne Westerling, towards a pretty boy who looked very much Jon’s type and a man who was likely of Free Folk origin, if the bright orange of his hair and beard was any indication. 

Theon’s arm was still wrapped around her shoulders, holding her tight in a way that all her siblings had learnt to do when Sansa was still dealing with Joffrey. It was comforting, warm in a way, and kept her grounded. 

It was a grounding she needed when the next contestant walked into the tent, and Sansa met the eyes of her best friend. 

Her best friend who was going to _suffer_ for hiding her place in the competition from Sansa.

(No matter that Sansa had done the same to her.) 

* * *

“Ready.”

“Steady.”

“Bake!” Jaime and Arthur chorused, and the tent erupted in a hive of motion. 

Sansa grabbed her recipe sheet and double checked the recipe, just so she could be sure of what exactly it was that she was making. 

It was something she had practiced many times, one of her most common bakes as well, but she had the horrified thought that she might have somehow forgotten it all.

It was cupcakes though, simple, easy, and with a nice filling in the middle. The sort of cake that Sansa had made for many an afternoon tea. It was Granny Minisa’s recipe, one which was slightly old fashioned and very basic, but that Sansa had jazzed up with her flavours.

It would be lemon, of course, with candied lemon slices baked into the top, and then filled with a limoncello curd.

It was a curd that Rickon kept trying to eat whenever Sansa made it at home, and one that their mother was insistent he did not have. Sansa didn’t have the heart to tell her that dad had accidentally given him the bowl to lick the first time she had made it. 

(They had all hidden Rickon’s reaction to the highly alcoholic filling from her, Robb and Jon by taking Rickon to run it off at the park, Arya and Bran had just tried to feed him very strong black coffee - which if anything had made it worse - and Sansa had distracted mum, all while dad had been given the task of cleaning up Rickon’s vomit.)

Sansa did not plan on doing an iced top for her cakes, the candied lemon and a glaze would be enough decoration entirely - provided that she had a nice even colour on top. 

The lemons had to be candied before she made her batter, for they took a while to do properly and adding them to the cakes was a matter of precise timing. It was a process that Sansa found oddly soothing, one she had done so many times before that it was essentially second nature to her. 

The syrup went on the hob first, to reach the proper temperature, while Sansa set about slicing the lemons as thinly as she could. She always did more lemons than she actually needed, just in case they fell apart while she was taking them out of the pan. 

Of course, it was just as she was chopping the lemons, just as she was reaching her happy place where all that mattered was the pattern of the knife when the judges came to see her.

“Hello Sansa,” Maege Mormont, Sansa’s personal hero and archiver of traditional Northern recipes said as kindly as she always appeared, “Tell us about what you are baking today.”

“Well, I’m making a favourite in my family, lemon cakes. They are going to be topped with a baked-in candied lemon slice, and filled with a limoncello curd.”

Oberyn Martell, the prince of pastries, who had travelled the world and collected recipes from the Iron Islands to Valeriya, pursed his lips worryingly, “Does baking lemon slices into the tops not affect the rise? I would have thought it better to go for an upside down cake if that was your aim.” 

“They don’t rise as much, no,” She said, smiling and continuing to slice the lemons, “Which is why I add the lemon slice halfway through the bake. When the slices are warm enough and if I am quick enough, then opening the oven does not have too great an effect on the rise of the cakes.”

Oberyn leaned forward consideringly, “And this limoncello filling? How do you plan on adding that to your cupcakes?”

Sansa paused for a moment so she could really think about how to answer, “Well, I bake them in these silicon cases, so just pop them out, cut the cupcake in half like its a sponge cake, and spread the curd inside.”

“If you are taking the cupcakes out of their cups, does that make them cupcakes anymore?” Jaime said, stealing a lemon slice and biting into it. A look of horror spread across his face as his cheeks pinched in as he realised what he had just done.

“Or are they naked?” Arthur said, with a laugh at his co-host’s misstep, “Are you making nudist cakes for this family friendly show?” 

There was only one answer to that really: 

“Is it really nudity if they are wearing their little lemon hats?”

* * *

As soon as the time was up Sansa stepped away from her cupcakes, her breath came in heavy pants as if she had just run a mile, and she was more stressed than she had been since taking her A Levels.

Her cupcakes rested on a piece of polished wood that Jon had carved into the shape of a lemon for her.

It was a presentation platter that was probably going to get a lot of use, as most of Sansa’s bakes were flavoured with lemon in some way.

She kept a careful eye on them while cleaning up her work bench, terrified that a freak gust of wind would blow them on to the floor.

It wasn’t long before the benches were all cleaned and the judges started to make their rounds. 

They started with Theon, his lopsided octopus cupcakes absolutely adorable, and the cakes themselves were Robb’s favourite flavour. He shamelessly flirted with both judges, and the hosts as well, and it was obvious that he was having great fun doing so. 

Everyone knew he was not serious though, not when he spoke of making the blackberry cupcakes with such tenderness and his tongue caressed Robb’s name with such obvious affection. It would have almost been as sweet as the tent full of cupcakes, if Sansa did not know how obnoxiously in love the pair were.

He seemed to receive good feedback from both judges, even if Maege had told him that perhaps his presentation could use more work. It was the sort of feedback Sansa knew he had been expecting though, he had never had the patience to make every cupcake look identical. 

Two floral cupcakes next, both belonging to the competitors from the Reach: Satin, who had made one with elderflower and raspberry; and Margaery, who had made cupcakes that looked almost exactly like roses, but which (according to Oberyn) tasted like a bar of soap. 

It was Sansa’s turn after that, her cupcakes laid out carefully, each one with a perfectly coloured and glazed top and filled with a precise amount of filling. They were, in her mind, perfect. 

“I think even without knowing what the flavour of these is, we could still guess just by looking at them.” Maege smiled a motherly smile, “They look very inviting with their shining tops and the bright yellow of the lemon.” 

Oberyn split one up with his fork and ate a bite consideringly, “I do like the way you chose one flavour and executed it well in a number of different ways. It really makes the cake pop with the zestiness of the lemon, and the alcohol in the curd isn’t too overpowering. It reminds me a little of the Water Gardens in Dorne, good job.” 

As soon as their backs were turned Sansa let out a sigh of relief. She had survived the first signature, and not only that, but it sounded like she had done pretty well!

* * *

Sansa really had to repress the urge to swear. She wanted nothing more than to do so, but the producer had been very clear about their expected behaviour on set. 

Of course, they had mostly been looking at Theon as they said that, who with his IronBorn tattoos probably did look more like he would swear than she did in her pastel sundress and floral headband. The joke was on them though, Theon worked with small children most of the day, he’d become very good at replacing swear words with other things.

She wanted desperately to swear at her cake, the way she did at home. The fucking thing wasn’t rising straight, and she couldn’t have a lopsided cake to present to the judges, not when it would come out either under or over baked in different spots. 

She took a deep breath and pictured Lady. It was fine. She was fine. All she had to do was calm down and relax. 

It wasn’t the end of the world if her battenburg wasn’t perfectly formed, and besides at least she didn’t have literal flames rising from her station like Rhaegar did. 

The technical was always going to be where she struggled, Sansa had known that going in. All she had to do was keep her cool and picture things that made her happy. It would be fine. 

As if they could sense her rising panic Theon and Jeyne both turned to her, offering her encouraging smiles. Jeyne’s arm twitched, like she wished she could offer Sansa a grounding hug, and even the sight of that was enough to calm Sansa somewhat. 

She had made a battenburg before, and while it hadn;t been the prettiest it had tasted good, what was to say that she couldn’t recreate it?

Besides, it was really all about the angles, and at least she didn't somehow have smoke rising (again!) from her bench. There was no way hers could look any worse than Rhaegar Targaryen’s, no way at all. 

Her alarm beeped and Sansa ducked to get her sponge out of the oven. It was _mostly_ even, and those bits that were not could be easily reminded with a large knife and a good ruler. 

Her marzipan was one of the better ones, as she looked around the tent, but then it should be, she made it often enough for Bran.

Apricot jam, just enough to sandwich the cakes together without overpowering the flavour of the almond sponge. That was something that her mother had always complained about with Aunt Lysa’s homemade battenburg, well that and the amount of red dye she used always made it look like someone had bled all over the cake. 

Her cakes were still slightly too warm to marzipan when the ten minute warning came, and Sansa nearly cursed once again. 

She grabbed a baking tray and did the Bake Off Waft, praying that it might cool them just enough that her marzipanning wasn’t a complete mess. 

The five minute warning had her panicking, as she desperately maneuvered her cake onto the rolled out marzipan. It would not be neat, but at least it would be covered, and she had all four squares. That was all she could really hope for at this point anyway. 

By the time their time was up and they were told to place each battenburg on the table at the front, Sansa knew she looked frazzled. She could see little wisps of hair in front of her eyes where it had escaped from her careful braid. 

A slight burst of envy filled her heart at the clean lines and precise squares of the Free Folk man’s - Tormund she thought his name was - bake. If only hers looked as clean as that. 

Although, she considered as she looked at the array of bakes at the front, two of which were smoking and one which looked like it had been sat on, hers was definitely not the worst there by a long shot. 

* * *

The showstopper was the bake which everyone feared, the one which had to look superb as well as taste divine. 

It was also the bake that Sansa was convinced was going to make her go grey prematurely. 

A glance over at Jeyne’s table had her smiling, Jeyne had started to mould the face of her teddy, and it was sweet indeed. It almost looked identical to the one Sansa could remember Jeyne having as a child, one that was brought to every sleepover Jeyne went on.

Jeyne had obviously felt Sansa’s gaze, for she looked up and smiled gently back, a smile which made a strange heat rise to Sansa’s cheeks.

She ducked her head back down, looking at the oven again, perhaps if she turned the cake it might work?

She didn’t know where the hot spots were in the oven, which really was just another thing to worry about. It made baking so much more difficult than it needed to be. 

It was fine, she had made this cake before. It was Rickon’s request every year, it was why she had chosen it.

“You have one hour left!” Arthur called, from a position perched atop Jaime’s shoulders, wielding a cardboard sword. 

Fuck. One hour. That was hardly enough time at all. 

She had most of her cakes out, and her icing was all ready to go, but she was missing Shaggydog’s head. And she couldn’t present a _headless_ Shaggydog to the judges, not even if she smeared red icing around the neck and claimed it was a figure from a Northern legend, no when Rickon would be watching and it would definitely traumatise him to see such a horrendous sight. 

Just at that moment, just as panic started to grip her tightly, her timer went off. 

She pulled her small cakes from the oven and set them to cool, turning back to the larger ones that were ready to carve now that the filling between them had somewhat set. 

Arya had helpfully detailed the exact cuts that Sansa should make to gain the right dimensions for Shaggydog, and Sansa followed those instructions carefully, ignoring everything around her as much as she could. 

A deep breath, a step back from her carving, and Sansa picked up her piping back, ready to give Shaggydog his fluffy coat. It was good that he was almost never groomed, it made it easier to ice him properly. Sansa soon found herself in the Zone: carving and icing and neatening until her cake was as close to perfect as it would ever be. 

So deeply focused was she, that the next announcement had her startling, her hand almost knocking into her cake as she jumped. 

“3… 2… 1… Step away from your cakes!” Jaime shouted, his gaze roaming around the tent, “Except for you Rhaegar, your cake is still on fire. Please keep trying to extinguish it, for all our sakes!” 

* * *

“Brienne, why don’t you go ahead and bring your mighty sword to us?” Jaime said with a wink, “I’d be more than happy to help you _wield_ it if you want.”

“It is rather large,” Arthur agreed, “A real phall- I mean _fantastic_ piece of artistry.” 

It was very much a sword, that was true and yet as Brienne passed her, Sansa could see why the hosts were making jokes about her cake. There was something rather masculine about it. 

“Well it’s certainly _impressive_.” Oberyn said with a smirk and a careless wink to the cameras, “A truly great sword.”

A flush made itself known on the back of Brienne’s neck, and for a moment Sansa felt a hint of indignation on behalf of the woman who had been so kind to her.

But then Maege laid a warning hand on Oberyn’s arm and smiled up at Brienne, “I think it looks grand, lass. And besides, we all know the most important bit is that flavour! Remind me what it is again?”

“Chocolate, chocolate cake with a slightly salted chocolate ganache. It’s my son’s favourite.” Brienne’s nerves were obvious, but then it must have been tricky being the first to present the first showstopper of the series. 

“It sounds lovely.” Maege said again, as she cut a piece from the cake. “And look at how moist it is! You should be very proud of that.”

Oberyn hummed around the piece he put in his mouth, “It’s lovely and light, but am I correct in saying you used just cocoa powder instead of real chocolate?” At Brienne’s nod he continued, “I thought so, it’s not quite as rich as it could have been, but then I suppose that is not the sort of cake children like!”

“I completely agree, Oberyn.” Maege said, putting down her fork with surprising delicacy, “Your sponge is a good one, although perhaps a little sweet for me. I would have liked something to cut through the sweetness of the chocolate.”

“Thank you.” Brienne said, her shoulders finally slumped into a more relaxed pose. She returned to her bench and everyone shot her reassuring smiles, after all it certainly wasn’t the worst feedback she could have received. 

“Rhaegar, would you bring your cake up to the bench please?” Arthur asked this time, but then that was unsurprising as Jaime Lannister seemed to hate Rhaegar Targaryen just as much as Aunt Lyanna did.

There was a small plume of smoke rising from Rhaegar’s bake, and it must have come from the cake as he had not yet lit the fireworks with which he had stuffed his cake. 

He placed it down on the judges table, and the expression on their faces told everyone just how little they were looking forward to putting his offering in their mouths. 

“Well, it certainly looks the part of a dragon.” Maege said, trying to be positive, “And I’m sure it tastes great!”

From the disgust on Oberyn’s face once he took his bite it most certainly did not taste great.

“How much baking powder did you put in this?” He asked in a surprisingly delicate way.

Rhaegar grinned, “Two tablespoons, just as the recipe said! It works so well to counterbalance the way the jäger stops it rising!”

“Yes, about that,” Maege said, discreetly spitting her bite of cake into a napkin, “Why put alcohol in a children’s birthday cake?”

Rhaegar’s grin did not waver at all, “Because it's the most important part of a child’s birthday cake, as my granny used to say. Give the kids the cake and knock them out with the alcohol so you can have some peace and quiet!”

That- That explained so much about the Targaryens that Sansa had met before. 

“Well, that is definitely interesting advice.” Maege said diplomatically, placing a straying hand on Oberyn’s arm to stop him saying something undoubtedly entertainingly rude to his brother in law. “Thank you for sharing your dragon cake with us.”

Next up was Sansa’s turn, and she took a steadying breath before carrying her cake to the judges table. The entire way it was all she could do to not panic herself into tripping. To fall and have her cake land on the floor by the judges - or worse on top of the judges - was the sort of thing which had haunted her nightmares for a few weeks.

“Remind us of your bake.'' Maege said kindly, once the cake was on the table, Shaggydog’s fangs pointing towards Oberyn.

“I’ve made you a triple lemon cake.” Sansa replied proudly, “Lemon cake, with a lemon drizzle, and a lemon curd buttercream. It’s in the shape of my baby brother’s dog, Shaggydog, and is the cake he asks for every year for his birthday.”

Maege’s smile somehow softened even further at the mention of Rickon, possibly because he was in the same class as Maege’s youngest daughter. “I’m sure it will be lovely, it sure does look like a fearsome dog, and quite lifelike as well.”

Oberyn cut the slices, and Sansa was so relieved that it did not collapse as he served it onto two plates that she nearly stumbled.

“It’s a soft bake,” He said, consideringly, “Without having gone mushy from the drizzle. That can be difficult to pull off, especially when you then stack the cake.” 

“And it’s perfectly sharp as well!” Maege said, “You’ve got the proper flavour of lemons in this one, the only thing I might have added is certainly not appropriate for a children’s birthday cake!”

“Well done!” Arthur mouthed at Sansa as she returned to her bench, while Theon gave her a thumbs up as she passed him and his misshapen pirate ship. 

The relief of such kind words made her mind go almost hazy. She paid little attention to the rest of the judging to her everlasting shame, instead replaying their compliments in her head on a loop. 

She doubted that she had done anything near enough to gain Star Baker, but she didn’t think she was in danger of leaving just yet. 

* * *

“First off I want to say a huge well done to you all!” Arthur said with a grin, “You survived the tent and the scrutiny of the judges without any tears! I get the good job this week, and it’s my absolute pleasure to award Star Baker to someone who served us lemons upon lemons, as well as her brother’s pet dog to decapitate: Sansa!”

It was only a well placed jab to her ribs from Theon that kept Sansa from saying exactly what she wanted to in that moment. She doubted that a loud ‘fucking hells’ would have gone down well with the production team.

A wide grin stretched across her face at the applause from everyone, and on her other side Jeyne gently squeezed her hand in congratulations. 

Star Baker. Her. On week one! Her family were going to be ecstatic! Well, Arya would pretend like she knew all along, and Bran would say he had seen that it was going to happen, and Robb would say he was disappointed that Theon hadn’t won, but everyone else would scream and dance around the living room again. 

“I have the horrible job this week.” Jaime said, sounding like he was already doing an internal victory dance, “I have to announce who will be leaving us, and I’m sorry to announce it’s… Rhaegar.”

The briefest grin lit up Oberyn’s face, and Sansa was sure that it would have been on hers as well if she wasn’t hyper aware of the cameras rolling.

They had all known that Rhaegar would be leaving, with his burnt offerings for every challenge, but everyone still acted sympathetic at least. It was what they had to do, all part of the show, at least for the first week before any real friendship developed. 

As soon as the cameras stopped rolling Sansa let out a relieved sigh and prepared to phone her family. 

One week down, (hopefully!) nine to go.


	2. Bread Week

Bread week was terrifying. Everyone knew that.

Bread was Maege Mormont’s speciality, the thing which had launched her career in the first place. 

(And boy if Sansa’s little lesbian heart didn’t know it, having seen the muscles on Maege’s arms.)

It was not really Sansa’s strong point, she much preferred baking sweet treats over savoury, but she had been relentlessly practicing in the hope of at least making it through the week.

She really, really could have done without being cornered by Roose Bolton as soon as she entered the set, but some things obviously just could not be avoided. 

“Sansa,” Roose smiled thinly, “It is good to see you again. The last time I saw you I believe you had just started primary school, and now, now you look so much like your mother.”

Sansa really struggled to suppress the shiver that wanted to run down her spine at his words and the strange emotion in his gaze. It was the sort of gaze that made her want to go and scrub herself raw, one which was evaluating and almost lustful at the same time. 

It was a confrontation that Sansa knew she would have to get herself out of, one which Theon would not be able to rescue her from. Theon skilfully managed to avoid his ex boyfriend’s father (well, Sansa said ex boyfriend but Theon was more fond of the endearment: ‘biggest mistake of my life don’t let me do anything so stupid ever again, please Sansa’).

“Mother did mention you,” Sansa said as sweetly as she could, She wondered how you were coping, all alone in that big house, while Domeric chose to live with his aunt and while Ramsay is in prison.”

Roose’s face closed up, a sort of anger overtaking his features and filling his eyes, and Sansa knew she had won. The humiliation of the Bolton family had been complete with the guilty verdict at Ramsay’s trial, but it had been steadily declining before then, with fewer and fewer invites to events being sent for years. 

They had done fairly well at hiding the details from the press, but Sansa and Theon - two people who knew exactly what had occurred - were now on national television with Roose and could make his humiliation complete if they so desired.

Not that Sansa did at present, but it was rather nice to know she had that sort of power if it became necessary. 

“Sansa!” Jeyne, sweet Jeyne, called, as she came to loop her arm through Sansa’s, “Come on, we’ll be needed soon, and I was wondering if you’d redo my braids for me, so they are neat enough my mother doesn’t start yelling at the screen in horror at my scruffiness.” 

Sansa had to resist the urge to laugh at her friend’s distress, she could picture exactly the scenario that Jeyne was describing. It was a scenario that would play out in her own home, had her mother not tightly braided her own hair that morning and shellacked it in nearly two full cans of hairspray. 

Honestly, Sansa was just hoping they didn’t have to flambé anything in the Technical, else her bake might not be the only thing in flames! 

“Of course,” She allowed herself to be led away, “Do you want fishtail, or perhaps a Bear Island braid?”

Jeyne smiled at her, a smile that for some strange reason made Sansa’s heart skip a beat, “A Bear Island braid, I think. Who knows, it might make Maege look a little more fondly on me!”

* * *

Topped flatbreads. Ok, that was something Sansa could do. That was simple enough.

She knew her flavours worked, knew that they were nice, seeing as Jon had eaten the entire batch she had made as practice and then entered a food coma.

Her bread dough was the first bit to make, because while it didn’t need a long prove, it still was best to get that done first. She deliberately made slightly more dough than she needed, just in case she managed to burn one of her breads. 

Kneading the dough was soothing in its own way, the repetition allowing Sansa to expel all her remaining frustration from her conversation with Roose Bolton.

Of course it would be just as she was calming down that the judges came over. Of course.

“So Sansa, tell us about your flatbreads.” Oberyn purred.

Sansa paused her kneading, “Well, again they’ve been inspired by my siblings. I’ve gone for bramble and goat cheese as they are my brother Robb’s favourite flavours.”

“Oh?” Oberyn leaned forwards. “How are you planning on using these flavours?”

Sansa took a breath, “Well, I’m making a bramble and rosemary jam, and then I’ll sprinkle the crumbled goat cheese on top. I’ll serve it with a balsamic glaze.”

“How interesting, are those Northern flavours?” Oberyn did sound genuinely interested.

“No.” Sansa shook her head. “They’re Riverlands flavours. My mother is from Riverrun and my brother gained his tastes from her.”

“Well, we are looking forward to trying them at least.” Maege smiled, “Good luck!”

Sansa turned back to her dough once they left, and started to knead it once more. The uncertainty in Maege’s voice had her panicking, and wondering if it was worth changing her flavours at the last moment. 

But that would be stupid, wouldnt it? 

She turned to Theon on the bench behind her with what was obviously a panicked expression, and felt a hint of relief when he shook his head and smiled encouragingly. 

“Don’t change them.” He mouthed, “You know that Robb loves them, and he has good taste.”

Or, well, that was what she thought he was mouthing, he could also have been telling her that Cersei’s hair looked like it had a bumbling band of baboons nesting in it. Either was entirely possibly with Theon. 

She was just getting back into the rhythm of kneading her dough when Arthur came up to her, to joke, parent, or flirt: whichever the director had deemed most appropriate. 

“You were Star Baker last week, Sansa,” Arthur flashed his teeth at her in a quick grin, “Is that something you hope to achieve again this week? Quite the weighty title to live up to.”

“Well,” Sansa grinned back, “I had been trying not to think on it too much. And had been succeeding too, until you just said that!”

Arthur did not look guilty at all, his eyes filled with a gentle amusement, “Oops? 

Sansa knew that the camera would be watching, that she had to properly tailor her response to be appropriate, so she shook her head gently and raised an eyebrow in a mimicry of her mother’s favourite expression. 

“Thanks.” She grumbled fondly, “If I do not do well then I know who to blame.”

“Well, I shall take the blame. However I do not think I will need to, I think you are going to go far in this competition, Sansa.” Arthur patted her hand comfortingly. 

It seemed they had decided that Arthur should go the parental route for interactions with her. That was good. One less thing to worry about really. 

Sansa could always do with less to worry about.

She was a little worried to plate up her flat breads before anyone else, had she not done enough? Had she misread the brief?

It was no use worrying though, she didn’t have time to do anything else. Instead she was better off offering her assistance to someone else, better off keep her hands busy.

“How can I help?” She asked Jeyne, whose face was red with panic, “What can I do?”

Jeyne’s shoulders relaxed slightly as she met Sansa’s eyes, “You are an angel. An absolute angel. Can you sprinkle the blue cheese over the breads? I need to finish my drizzle.”

Sansa nodded, she knew exactly how much Jeyne needed. She had been one of Jeyne’s guinea pigs for this recipe after all.

“Why did I do so much?” Jeyne moaned under her breath, “Why did I give myself so much to do?”

Sansa brushed her shoulder against Jeyne’s, “Because you can do it! I believe in you, Jeyne.”

Jeyne smiled at her, a relieved smile, and her shoulders relaxed even further.

Jeyne managed to calm enough at Sansa’s words to drizzle her last ingredient atop her flatbreads just as time up was called.

“Push your flatbreads to the ends of your benches and hands off your bakes!” Jaime called, “Except for you Cersei, keep holding that structure just a moment longer while the technician finds you a screwdriver to fix your stand!”

* * *

The technical, once again an experience that Sansa was dreading. She forced herself to pay attention to the final advice that Maege was giving them.

“Be careful with this dough,” Maege said, “And good luck!”

She and Oberyn left the tent, and Jaime and Arthur exchanged looks.

“Well, that was helpful!” Jaime joked.

“Today the judges want you to make six brioche rolls, everything you need is there on your counter.” Arthur grinned at them all, “Ready.”

“Steady.”

“Bake!”

Sansa skimmed the recipe before her, getting the order of it in her head before she started a more detailed read through. 

“What a strange recipe.” The snooty voice of Cersei Lannister rang out, “Only yeast? Why, that’s hardly a proper brioche.”

Sansa resisted the urge to scoff that Cersei wouldn’t know propriety if it punched her in the face. It was the bake off, she had to at least pretend to get on with the other contestants while the camera was rolling. 

Her eye caught Satin’s and the two shared a commiserating look. She had to remember to get his phone number, to talk and also so that she could try and set him up with Jon. 

The few short conversations they had shared were already enough to tell her that Jon and Satin would get along well.

The rest of the technical seemed to pass in a daze, Sansa focused just as much as she could on making her brioche passable.

And it was, it was not the prettiest there by a long shot, nor was it the worst, and she found she was quite content with sixth place.

If the sigh of relief Theon also let out when they were outside the tent was any indication, he felt the same way about his fifth place.

Jeyne dragged the two of them off to one side, as though she just knew that whatever Theon was going to say next was something that would be better off not overheard. 

Theon grinned wickedly, the same wicked grin he used to drag Sansa’s brothers into various alcohol fuelled poor decisions.

“Did you hear Cersei? ‘I would never use yeast, it’s not the Lannister way.  _ We  _ only use sourdough starter, anything else is  _ cheating.’ _ ” He rolled his eyes, “What a pretentious woman.”

Sansa could hardly believe her ears, “Seven, I love sourdough just as much as the next Northerner, but  _ nobody _ has time for that no yeast nonsense.”

Jeyne scoffed, and wrapped her hand around Sansa’s arm. “It’s not even no yeast! There is yeast in sourdough! If you're leaving it out for that long I'm guessing you are using wild yeast.”

“Yes but that’s,” Theon affected a snooty voice, one Sansa was pretty sure he practiced by copying Aunt Lysa, “Not from a packet.”

Jeyne cackled, “Oh well then I'm fine, my store bought yeast lives in a jar.”

Sansa had to say something, anything to keep her mind off of the searing warmth of Jeyne’s touch. She did not know why she was reacting so to her best friend, only that she suddenly had a heightened awareness of her. 

“Weirdly, natural development of yeast is considered ‘no yeast’ because it's not added by human hands.” She said, dragging the information up from the depths of her mind. 

Jeyne was not having any of it. “But there's still  _ yeast _ in it!”

“I know!”

“Why would it be considered no yeast if it  _ does _ in fact have yeast in it?”

Theon watched them go back and forth, his head moving like he was watching a game of tennis. There was a light in his eye that told Sansa whatever he was going to say would only rule Jeyne up more, “Yes but it’s not an ingredient as such.”

Jeyne looked at Theon with the most deadpan expression. “If you're going to call it no-yeast, have some spine and use some other leavening agent instead of yeast.”

She nodded her head, as if to punctuate her statement, and flounced off.

Sansa could not help but watch her go, and when she turned back to Theon he had the strangest look on his face.

“You know, Stark, sometimes you are very much like your brother.”  
  


* * *

A bread with three types of braid, that was not a challenge that Sansa was relishing. And yet she knew she had a slight advantage, she had been braiding hair and ribbon and dough since she was small, which was probably longer than some of the other contestants.

(She could not see Roose Bolton ever braiding anything, nor could she see Cersei stooping so low as to do her own braiding.)

It had to taste good as well, of course, and Sansa was relieved to be back to her comfort flavour of lemon. Sansa liked lemons. Lemons liked Sansa as well. Her bakes always seemed to come out better when she used lemon.

She forced herself to relax, and lose herself in the motions of making the bread, of braiding, of the scent of lemon. Enough so that she did not realise the passing of time, and that it felt like mere moments before she had her finished loaf on the end of her bench. 

It was nice not to have worried all through a bake. Sansa just hoped it wouldn’t backfire on her.

She forced her shoulders to relax and smiled encouragingly at Theon as he passed her. 

His bread was incredible, he’d made some sort of seaweed loaf from the Isles that he refused to let anyone else look at the recipe for. He said it was his mother’s recipe, and that she would kill him if any greenlanders saw it, Sansa had met Theon’s mother and definitely agreed with him.

Alannys was scary.

He’d used a mixture of braids, some Ironborn, some Northern, even a few of the Riverlands which Sansa’s mother had likely taught him. All of the combined to create a great kraken, a kraken that seemed to have almost sprung from the seas of some aged map.

It was a masterpiece of sculpture, one that had everyone looking on in awe. Even Jeyne Westerling’s eyes had widened in reluctant admiration at the sight.

“I feel like this might be rising from the depths to drag us to a watery grave at any minute.” Maege said with a grin.

Oberyn waggled his eyebrows, “Sinuous, lithe, intricately braided… and your bread doesn’t look too bad either.”

Theon let out a light chuckle, and Sansa just knew he was winking at Oberyn. When they watched the series back Robb would undoubtedly growl possessively and clutch Theon close, something Sansa knew Theon was aware of and likely banking on.

She was so busy picturing the entertaining picture her brother would create, that she missed the feedback Theon gained. She could tell it was excellent though, if his wide, toothy grin was anything to go by.

“Sansa, bring your bake up to the table please.” 

Sansa’s loaf was bigger than anyone else's, so big in fact that she needed help. 

“Wow,” Jaime said as he helped her carry her loaf to the table, “Is it acceptable for me to be scared of your wolf? Only it seems like it’s actually snarling at me.”

Sansa smiled weakly, her heart pounding too hard in fear to be able to respond properly. Her mind was filled with visions of tripping and sending her bread to the floor, of it hitting one of the judges in the face, of it somehow setting the tent on fire. 

Logically she knew they were silly fears, and yet they still swirled around her mind. 

The bread was set before the judges carefully, and she held her breath as they looked at it.

“Well, you’ve certainly given us an impressive sculpture.” Oberyn said, “It seems like it might come to life at any moment.” 

“Aye, and the braids are most impressive.” Maege said, reaching for the knife to cut a slice. 

Maege prodded the bread slice with a thoughtful expression, “You’ve underproved your dough slightly, see how tight it is here? It's why you haven't got the rise you quite wanted.”

Sansa nodded, her heart somewhere around her throat, she knew that such a criticism was coming but it still hurt to hear. 

“Thank you.” Sansa nodded, blinking back the tears that wanted to form in response to the criticism. 

“Your flavour is lovely though.” Oberyn said, as he placed a kind hand atop Sansa’s, “You have a real flare for flavour. You can really taste the rosemary, while the lemon balances it all well with a lovely sharpness.”

Sansa forced herself to smile at the praise, even thought all she wanted to do was cry and berate herself for her stupid mistakes. 

She stepped back from the table and returned to her bench, clenching her jaw to keep from crying. She was certainly not in the bottom three, it was fine, she would not be going home. 

Especially not as Roose Bolton proudly walked past her carrying a black lump that he plonked down before the judges. 

“Where are the braids?” Maege asked, looking down at Roose Bolton’s loaf with concern. 

“It is a leech.” Roose said, in his quiet voice, “Leeches don’t have braids.” 

“Right.” Oberyn said, “So you haven’t fulfilled the brief then. Let’s taste your bread, remind us of the flavour?” 

“Charcoal, with a beetroot jam filling. The filling is supposed to seep out to give the true appearance of a leech being cut into.” 

Maege evidently could not keep her grimace of distaste contained, for it flashed across her face and broke the pleasant smile she usually wore. “Lovely.” 

She handed the knife to Oberyn, who cut the bread in half with a vicious grin. Red oozed from the centre of the dark loaf, dripping onto the peach board. It truly did look like a leech had been cut, even more so when there were darker lumps among the jam. 

Both judges looked incredibly reluctant to eat the bread, but they had to. They ate the smallest possible bites, and Maege grimaced once more once the bread was in her mouth. 

“Oh dear.” She said gently, “I- I am quite afraid that I cannot find the flavours you mentioned. It all seems to be… copper? And salt?”

“That would be the black pudding. I wanted them to taste authentic as well.”

Not even Oberyn could summon a smile to such a statement.

* * *

“So this week I have the lovely job,” Jaime said, “I get to announce our Star Baker. They gave us a ten out of tentacles loaf… it’s Theon!”

Theon’s face split into a well deserved grin, and Sansa squeezed his hand in congratulations. She was pleased for him, and also pleased that he had the self control to not need to be reminded about the swearing as she had. 

“Well done.” She murmured, a sentiment that Satin on Theon’s other side repeated.

“And that means I have the horrible job,” Arthur sighed, “This week I’m afraid the contestant leaving us is… Roose.”

Sansa breathed out a sigh of relief, she had hoped she had done enough to stay, even knowing that others had done worse in some challenges did not take away that fear. And if the sigh of relief was that Roose would no longer be able to corner her and make creepy comments? Well, that was just a bonus. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


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